Do the dead become stars?
by fixusi
Summary: The part of me that wants to live is still struggling, it's shouting at me to open my eyes and get up, to find my phone or something, but the other part is winning. I want the endless pain to end. Pre-series, hurt!Sam. Rated T for cursing and sadness.
1. 1: Will I become a star?

I actually wrote this about a week ago but just as I was saving this to my laptop, it shut down. Arghh. But now I wrote it again.

I don't want to add anything to the end of this, so I'm gonna ask it here. Do you want me to add second chapter? I'm not sure if I want to leave this fic so depressing, but argh, I don't know.. so tell me;** should I write another chapter where **(don't wanna spoil the end) **the ending isn't so sad?**

Sam is 16, Dean is 20. Pre-series.

* * *

_The lines keep getting thinner_  
_My age has never made me wise_  
_But I keep pushing on and on and on and on_

Why does it hurt so frigging much?

Ah, fuck. My whole body seems to be on fire. Or like every bone in my body is broken. Or both. I don't know, okay? It- it just hurts so much..

_"Dean."  
"Sam! Where the hell are you?!"  
"Umm.. outside."  
"Yeah, just wonderful! Absolutely wonderful! You took Impala, right?"  
"Look, Dean-"  
"I don't look anything, Sam! You get your ass back here right now, and I swear to god you'll never see daylight again."_

Am I laying on grass? Yup, it's definitely grass. It's so soft and cool against my back.

I open my eyes. The first thing I notice is the sky. It's pitch black -like the road I was driving just some minutes ago- and only few stars light up the darkness of endless space.

Someone once said that stars are our dead loved ones- maybe mom is a star, as well?

_"That's unfair!"  
"Shut up, Sam. You stole Impala, sneaked out and drank alcohol! If you act like a fucking idiot, I'll treat you like one. Got it?"  
"You're such a fucker!"_

Maybe I become a star when I die.

I almost forget my pain- almost. But then I move my arm a bit, and a wave of pain shakes my body. I bite my lip and feel a tear running down my cheek.

If I'm going to die tonight, I think, can I please die without suffering for too long?

_"I'm not going to discuss this, Sam. You're coming home now."  
"What if I don't? Huh? It's not like you're going to miss me! I could just die and no one would even notice, Dean! You got any idea what that feels like? To have no friends, no.. anything!"_

Oh, fuck. Dean. Where is he?

_"Gosh, Sam, how much did you drink? I swear to god.. You're drunk. Come here now and maybe I won't tell dad about this."  
"Yeah. We'll see about that."_

I really should find my phone. I know I had it with me- I had it in my hand when I crashed.

But how can I find anything when I'm barely able to move?

_"Sam, come on. I'm pissed as hell, and I promise I'll kick your ass tomorrow for this night, but you have to come home."  
"I'm on my way, Dean. I just.. sorry." _

I close my eyes. I know I can't do it. It hurts too much. Even for me to bear.

Sighing, I let myself relax against the cold grass. How much is the time now? Probably not much over three. Dean is probably asleep by now in his bed. And dad is probably just getting home from his hunt. And I'm here.

Dying in the middle of nowhere, a crashed car next to me. I just have to be grateful it didn't explode. Dean would kill me.

I let out a little laugh. Yeah... How could he kill me? I'm definitely dead before he wakes up in the morning.

Opening my eyes again, I notice a few more stars flickering there. Maybe they are some people who died just now? I don't exactly believe in heaven or anything like that, but it would be pretty cool to become a star after you die. Just spend an eternity stalking people from the above.

The burning sensation all over my body seems to ease a bit over time. Not much though. But just enough for me to try to examine my injuries- I can tell that at least few ribs of mine are broken.

I move my right arm just a little bit to see if it still works. It's a bit hard to lift it up, but it seems to be okay, and I softly place it over my stomach.

There is a part of me that doesn't want to die. Not yet. Not this young.

And then there's a part that has already accepted the fact that I'm in the middle of nowhere, alone, without any chances to call for help, and that I'm going to die.

_"It's alright, Sam. Just get your ass here, and we'll talk this out. You're drunk and don't know what you're talking about, okay?"  
"Yeah. Hey, Dean?"  
"Mhm?"  
"I just passed a sign that says that our motel is three miles from he-"_

They say that things like worrying or traumatic events clear your head up. Even after a hard night of drinking. And I gotta admit that it's true. But right now, I could really use a glass -fuck it, a bottle- of something.

I close my eyes. I just want the pain to stop. Please.

Maybe, if I just let it go? Let go of everything? Make everything go black and such, like in books? Does it really work? Well.. what could I lose? I'm already dying. It's worth a shot.

_"Sam! Sammy! You there?! What happened? Sam!"_

I close my eyes. It's true- what could I possibly lose?

And I try. I try really hard to just let it go, but it's hard. The part of me that wants to live is still struggling, it's shouting at me to open my eyes and get up, to find my phone or something, but the other part is winning. I want the endless pain to end.

I don't stop trying. And finally everything just darkens around me even though my eyes are closed, the quiet noises around me fade away and the stars stop flickering for me.

_"Sammy!"_

I'm not sure if I want to die. But it just happens.

_"Answer me, Sammy-"_

_Beep beep beep._


	2. 2: Some stolen painkillers

I had like a** thousand** ideas to the second chapter, and I wrote it like thousand times **again and again**, but I figured this was maybe the best of them :D I hope you like it (:

* * *

_No matter what gets in my way_  
_As long as there's still life in me_  
_No matter what, remember you know I'll always come for you._

First I am just talking with Sam. I'm pissed as hell, sure, but something in his voice makes me worry. I want him to come home as soon as possible so I can put him to bed and go to sleep myself. I'm dead tired after a day at the gym.

(Yes. I go to the gym. Don't be so surprised. Hitting on women requires you to look good.)

And the next second, his sentence is cut off by a scream and a sudden, loud crash, that makes me almost drop my phone.

"Sam!" I yell. "Sammy! You there? What happened?"

And I hear no response.

"Sam!"

Cold sensation hits my stomach. No. Sam is okay. He needs to be. He can't just- _fuck._

"Sammy! You there?"

In mild panic I grab my coat and keys to the front door, running outside as fast as I can. If Sammy is hurt.. honestly, I don't know what I'd do. Probably go crazy on doctors to make him feel alright. Or something.

I don't hate many things -only waking up early, cold coffee, monsters, and few others- but seeing Sam hurt is the worst of them. Or worse than that, knowing he's hurt but knowing that I can't help.

The night air is cold and- fuck, it really is cold. I pull my jacket on me as I run towards an ugly, gray car. Sam has the Impala (of course he has), and this is an emergency._ The owner will understand_, I think as I pull out my lockpick.

..or probably not. But who cares?

* * *

"Sam!"

Oh god. He isn't breathing. He isn't fucking breathing!

"Don't you dare do this to me!"

What do I do, he isn't breathing, he can't die,oh god no, he-

Dean, come on, pull it together, Sam needs you, you know CPR, just do it, hands on his chest, push-

"Sam, come on! Don't, please, I need you-

Push, push, push, push-

"Ah, please! Sammy, no, you have to fight, little brother!"

A silent cough.

"D-D'n?"  
"Sam! Oh, God, Sammy, stay down, I'm gonna call for help, just wait a minute, okay, little brother?"  
"Breathin'.. hurts. It's so c'ld."  
"I know, Sammy, but everything's gonna be alright, you hear me?"

A couple of buttons pressed.

"_Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?_"

* * *

"Are you okay?" I ask again. Sam nods, looking frustrated but glad.  
"I am. Quit asking, thanks."  
"Yeah? You were laying unconscious on that bed just two hours ago, Sam."  
"Maybe, but I'm not laying there anymore, you get it? I want out."

_I sigh as I look at Sam. He's so pale. Too pale, if you ask me, but the doctor of his told me that it was perfectly normal, and he was having all there vitamins and such, coming from the IV stuck in his arm. Doctor said that those would make him feel and look better in no time._

_I rub my eyes and lean back on my chair. I'm so frigging tired. I could honestly fall asleep while walking if I just closed my eyes for a few seconds too long. _

_Glancing at the clock on the (surprise) white wall for millionth time, I see it's only half past seven am. How did the night go so fast? I shrug, as if someone saw me and heard my thoughts._

I let out a little laugh. "No wonder. You've never liked hospitals."

Sam has his back to me. I think he's packing his bag, his little things he had with him while the accident, such as his phone and wallet.

"Mm, dunno why", he mutters. "They just creep me out. They remind me of dying."

_Sam is laying on the bed in front of me. He looks so peaceful. He has a bad-looking cut on his forehead that bled a lot when I found him from the ditch (next to the wrecked Impala, dad's so gonna kill us), but I think it's gonna heal well and it's not gonna even leave a scar. I think the doctor said it didn't even need stitches, only some glue. _

_As I concentrate on my thoughts, I feel hunger growling in my stomach. It's like seven hours since I last ate, and I've been up all night. I seriously should eat something._

"We've been almost dead like thousand times already, and I'm just 20 years old", I sigh. "But somebody's gotta do it."

Sam shrugs. "Guess so. It sucks, tho'."

_I silently get up -Sam isn't gonna wake up anytime soon, he was so frigging weak when he was brought in- and leave the room. Walking down the hallway, I pass a room with its door open. Automatically I glance in, but when I see a young kid laying unconscious on the bed, a crying woman next to him, I quickly concentrate looking forward again. _

_Man, I hate hospitals. _

"Sam", I start, and he turns around to look at me. He has his duffel in his hands. "What happened back there?"

I eye him. "Uhm", he mumbles. "You mean, during the crash or..?"  
"No, I mean after the crash. It took me like thirty minutes to find you. What happened?"

_As I reach the small 24/7 café of the hospital, I buy a warm sandwich and the largest cup of coffee they've got to sell. I nearly can't control myself as the cashier -a young kid, maybe a year older than Sam- hands me the coffee. It smells like heaven. _

_Really. If heaven smells like anything, it's a fresh cup of warm coffee after a long, rough night. _

_I take my breakfast and return to Sam; I know he isn't going to wake up too soon, but I still don't want to risk him waking up alone. Sam is a bit afraid of hospitals._

"Does it matter?" Sam asks. "I'm alive. Not dead, thanks to you."

He smiles at me, and I nod. "Ah, well, true. But something happened back there. Your injuries weren't deadly. Just bruises all over your body, broken wrist and a couple of cuts here and there."

"I don't remember what happened", he says. "I remember crashing the car, flying through the air and hitting the ground with a bit of a force, and then everything darkens."

I see that he is lying. But I don't push him.

_I step into the room of ours, and walk to Sam. _

_"Hi, buddy. I'm back", I say, grinning, even though he is still sleeping. "I just went to get something to eat.. in case you hear me or something. I don't know." _

_I look at him as I sit down again. Fuck. _

_"Thanks, Sam. Thanks for screwing everything up." _

I nod. Whatever. He's alive now, thank God for that.

"Alright. Shall we go?" I ask. He grins and nods, looking like this is the best day of his yet short life.  
"I thought you'd never ask", he replies and walks past me, opens the door and rushes out.

_Burying my face to my hands, I sigh. I know it's not his fault, but I can't help it. He was stupid. He knew drinking and driving- and speaking to a phone at the same time isn't the smartest thing to do. Alright. I was the one he was talking to, but still. We both screwed things up. _

_I close my eyes. I do not intent to fall asleep, just relax, but fuck it. You can't control whether you fall asleep or not. _

As I walk past the room where I saw the unconscious kid couple hours earlier, I suddenly feel the urge to peek in again. The door is now closed, but I quietly open it and step inside. I walk over to the young boy with curly hair and pale skin. He reminds me a lot of Sam, and I feel a shiver run down my back.

"Hey", I say, hoping that he can hear me.

I smile a bit and look down to my feet. "I hope you're gonna be alright. Get well soon, buddy." With that I leave the room, _really _hoping that he'll wake up.

God. I hate hospitals. Just like Sam said, they remind me of dying. I just hope that day doesn't arrive too soon.

And when I find myself standing next to Sam outside, waiting for a cab to come and pick us up (I can't drive with a stolen car with Sam next to me), I hear Sam starting to speak.

"You know, Dean, I didn't mean any of the things I said while driving back. I was just angry and drunk, just like you said. Sorry."

I look at him. He isn't looking at me, but as his feet.

"It's alright, little brother", I say. "I've been drunk, too. I know what it's like. You remember that one time I came home drunk and dad caught me?" I add with a laugh. "Man, that was fun. I've never seen dad so pissed."

Sam laughs, as well. "I remember. At least dad has never caught me of drinking. This time I'm pretty sure I'll get spanked or something, though."

"Mm, naah", I mutter after a little silence. "I don't think so. But if you do, I'll be there next to you, promise you that."

"Really?" Sam asks, looking up (yeah, I'm still a few inches taller than him) to me. "Liar."

"Nope", I reply. "I'll stand next to you and laugh my ass off."

And then I feel him hitting me to my side. "You're such an asshole, you know that?" he says and laughs dryly. I nod.

"I know. But I'm older which means I can be an asshole if I want to."  
"It does not!" Sam laughs. Man, he laughs a lot today.  
"It totally does, Sammy", I reply, smirking.  
"In your dreams, Dean", he sighs and looks at me.

And soon enough the cab arrives to pick us up. Me, with a lot of explaining to do to dad as he comes back home, and Sam with a broken wrist and a some stolen painkillers in his pocket.

* * *

I'm not really happy with the ending but I hope you like it :)

fixusi


End file.
